WE HEAR THE OPENING TO SOUVENIR (OMD, 1981). THE SONG PLAYS AS SOUNDTRACK OVER THE OPENING SCENES. NO DIEGETIC SOUND.

It’s my direction

It’s my proposal

It’s so hard

It’s leading me astray

My obsession

It’s my creation

You’ll understand

It’s not important now

All I need is

Co-ordination

I can’t imagine

My destination

My intention

Ask my opinion

But no excuse

My feelings still remain

My feelings still remain.

SCENE 1. EXT. SNOWY WOODS.

AN EYE FADES UP FROM THE DARKNESS. LEFT EYE. IT FILLS THE SCREEN. BROWN-EYED. SAD. A GIRL’S EYE. IT SEEMS TO WELL UP WITH A TEAR.

WE SLOWLY PULL BACK. IT’S NOT A TEAR. IT’S A SNOWFLAKE MELTING AND TRICKLING INTO HER EYE.

WE PULL BACK FURTHER. THE GIRL IS AGED ABOUT SEVENTEEN. HER FACE IS PALE, LIPS FULL AND RED, SENSUAL BUT PURE, SLIGHTLY PARTED, TEETH SHOWING. HER DOE-BROWN EYES STARE UNBLINKING, UNSEEING.

WE PULL BACK FURTHER. AN UGLY BLOOD SLIT HAS COAGULATED ACROSS HER THROAT, RUINING HER SNOW-WHITE BEAUTY. SHE STARES UP AT THE INDIFFERENT DARKNESS. SNOW SETTLES ON HER FACE AND EYES, STARTING TO MASK THEM. AS SHE COOLS, IT NO LONGER MELTS BUT STARTS TO COVER. IT WAS ONLY A GROTESQUE PARODY OF CRYING.

WE PULL BACK FURTHER, UPWARDS, LIKE AN OUT-OF-BODY EXPERIENCE. WE SEE HER BODY LYING IN A SNOWY WOODED GLADE, LIKE THAT ROBERT FROST POEM, ‘STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING’ (‘THE WOODS ARE LOVELY, DARK AND DEEP…’).

WE RETREAT AND RISE INTO THE NIGHT SKY. WE LOOK DOWN AT HER BODY FROM TREE-TOP HEIGHT. THEN WE TILT UP TO LOOK AT THE SNOW GENTLY DRIFTING DOWN FROM THE DARKNESS. WE RISE HIGHER, OUT-OF-BODY, AND THEN LOOK DOWN AGAIN.

NOW AT TWICE TREE-TOP HEIGHT, WE SEE A DOG OFF A LEASH, A BEAUTIFUL GOLDEN RETRIEVER. IT CAUTIOUSLY APPROACHES HER BODY, TURNS TO LOOK BACK AT ITS OWNER. WE SEE IT BARK AND PAW THE SNOW UNCERTAINLY. AN OLD MAN WALKS SLOWLY INTO VIEW, SEEN FROM A GREAT HEIGHT, SEES THE GIRL’S BODY, AND PUTS HIS HAND TO HIS MOUTH.

CUT TO –

SCENE 2. INT. BEDROOM.

POINT OF VIEW, LYING DOWN, WE LOOK ALONG A MAN’S LEGS TO HIS FEET. THICK GREY WOOLLEN SOCKS, SLIGHTLY BLACKENED AROUND THE SOLES AS IF STILL SLIGHTLY DAMP.

HE IS LYING ON AN UNMADE BED, FEET CROSSED AND FRAMED AGAINST THE WINDOW. A BLIND HAS BEEN PULLED DOWN BUT IT DOES NOT REACH ALL THE WAY. THROUGH THE GAP WE SEE THE BLACK NIGHT AND THE STREET-LIT SNOW FLOATING, FLUORESCENT ORANGE.

WE SEE HIS FACE. HE IS SMOKING A CIGARETTE, UTTERLY EXPRESSIONLESS. TIRED BROWN EYES, BLANK, UNSEEING. AGAIN WE SEE HIS FEET FRAMED AGAINST THE WINDOW AND THE FALLING SNOW. WE SEE MORE OF HIS ROOM. BACHELOR BRIC-A-BRAC. ARTY. POETRY BOOKS. PEELING FILM POSTERS. NOIR. GOTHIC HORROR.

A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF HIM LYING ON HIS UNMADE BED. OLD LETTERS AND PHOTOS ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE, AS IF HE HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR SOMETHING IN THE PAST – AND NOT FOUND IT.

WALTER LOOKS GOOD FOR HIS AGE. BUT THERE IS A TERRIBLE TIREDNESS AROUND HIS EYES. A MAN WHO HAS GAINED MUCH KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE, BUT LOST ITS SPARK.

A RAT’S EYE VIEW. WE MOVE ACROSS A DEEP RED CARPET, SEEING THE DETRITUS OF HIS LIFE. QUARTER FULL BOTTLE OF JACK DANIELS. UNOPENED BILLS. OLD SWEETHEART LETTERS AND PHOTOS. WE FINISH ON A BLACK-AND-WHITE SNAPSHOT, CRACKED AND FLUFFY WITH WHITE VEINS. A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN. WALTER, WITH FRIENDS, LAUGHING IN A BAR, ALL POSING FOR THE CAMERA. YOUNG, SMILING, SEVENTEEN. BUT THE PHOTO SEEMS HAUNTED, LIKE A PREMONITION OF TIME’S BETRAYAL. THERE IS A SADNESS BEHIND THE SMILE, A HURT IN THE EYES HIDING UNDER THE CONFIDENCE.

WE CUT BACK TO –

SCENE 3. EXT. SNOWY WOODS.

AN OUT-OF-BODY POINT OF VIEW, HIGH UP, LOOKING DOWN. THE GIRL’S BODY HAS NOW BEEN CORDONED OFF WITH STRIPED MARKER TAPES. POLICE IN FLUORESCENT JACKETS, FORENSICS IN WHITE NODDY SUITS, FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY, WINKING HAZARD LIGHTS.

THE OLD MAN IS GIVING A STATEMENT TO AN OFFICER. THE DOG IS SAT OBEDIENTLY BY HIS SIDE.

AN AMBULANCE CAUTIOUSLY DRIVES THROUGH THE ICY MUSH INTO THE GLADE. WE SEE IT NOW FROM THE TREELINE, AS A FOREST CREATURE MIGHT. THE GLADE NOW FLASHES LIKE A HORRIBLE CARNIVAL OF OFFICIALDOM, A JOYLESS CLEARING UP OF MESS.

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 4. INT. BATHROOM.

WALTER STARES AT HIS UNSHAVEN FACE IN THE MIRROR. HE TRACES THE OUTLINE OF HIS CHEEK AND MOUTH WITH A FINGER AS IF SOMEHOW TRYING TO RECALL WHO HE IS.

SNOW SETTLES ON STONE ANGELS, HEADSTONES AND EARTH. THERE SEEMS LITTLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE GRAVEYARD AND THE PLAYGROUND.

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 8. EXT. STREET.

TRAFFIC LIGHTS. NO CARS. LIGHTS CHANGE FROM RED TO AMBER TO GREEN. NO CHANGE.

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 9. EXT. ROOFTOPS.

WE GLIDE, SPIRIT-LIKE, OVER THE TOWN’S ROOFTOPS. PEER HITCHCOCK-LIKE THROUGH RANDOM WINDOWS AT RANDOM LIVES. CHRISTMAS TREES AND PRESENTS. A MAN STORMS OUT. A WOMAN WEEPS. AN OLD MAN SLEEPS IN FRONT OF THE TELEVISION. A LITTLE GIRL DREAMS OUT OF HER WINDOW…

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 10. EXT. COAST AND SEA.

A TRAWLER PUSHES INTO THE SWELL, MOVING AWAY FROM THE COASTAL LIGHTS AND INTO AN IMMENSE DARKNESS.

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 11. INT. BATHROOM.

WALTER KNOTS HIS TIE IN THE MIRROR, STILL BLANK, EYES LOOKING INWARD.

WE CUT TO –

SCENE 12. INT. BEDROOM.

THE PHOTO OF WALTER ON THE FLOOR. WE ARE SLOWLY PULLED IN TO HIS FACE, THEN INTO HIS LEFT EYE, UNTIL IT FILLS THE SCREEN WITH BLACKNESS.

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About Me

I am a fully qualified teacher of Drama, Media and Film Studies with ten years’ work experience in secondary and further education. I graduated from the Central School of Speech and Drama (one of the most respected Drama conservatoires in the world) with a first class Honours degree in Drama and Education and a PGCE.
I was a writer-in-residence and workshop leader for a Southend-based youth theatre for ten years, during which time I developed my creative writing skills to include playscripts, poetry and songs. With my deep interest in Film, I have now expanded these skills to include screenplays.
I now wish to take a sabbatical from teaching to focus on a proposal for a PhD thesis. This will involve developing new collaborative methodologies for intertextual musical theatre in the context of a resynthesis of art, philosophy and science.
My specific areas of interest and expertise are as follows: Academic, Acting, Analysis, Assessment, Auditions, Collaboration, Creative Thinking, Directing, Drama, Education, English, Film, History, Lecturing, Literature, Media, Poetry, Philosophy, Playscripts, Screenplays, Songs, Teaching, Television, Theatre, Tutoring, Workshops, Writing.

I’m writing a first draft for a musical. It's called Marty Gull (Marty[r] Gull[ible]). It's a surreal, satirical, tragicomic piece of musical political theatre: a cautionary tale of school politics, backstabbing egos and the state of the nation.

I’ve written the first draft libretto using a medley of melodies in my head from well-known musicals.

I would like to extend an open invitation to all budding musicians and composers to submit their own musical interpretations. I would also welcome interest from actors (age 20-25) who can sing and dance.

The plan is to develop a new collaborative form of musical theatre. Once we get a good working team of lyricists, composers, musicians, actors and designers together we can decide on the final evolution of the piece and arrange copyright accordingly. I would like to submit or even take the piece to Central as a work-in-progress.

Ultimately, I would be interested in using all of this as a springboard for a thesis on new art forms and musical theatre. But, most of all, I would love to have the opportunity of working with kind, creative and talented people.

If you like the sound of any of this, please post a comment at http://martygull.blogspot.com/or get in touch with me through one of the following methods: